The Charge of the Light Brigade and Other Poems
Alfred, Lord Tennyson
- 112 pages
- English
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The Charge of the Light Brigade and Other Poems
Alfred, Lord Tennyson
Ă propos de ce livre
Considered by Victorians as the finest contemporary poet, Alfred, Lord Tennyson (1809–1892) gained much critical favor for his mastery of poetic technique, high-mindedness, and superb natural description. This volume contains a representative selection of his best works, including the famous long narrative poem `Enoch Arden,` as well as a number of important lyrics, monologues, ballads, and other typical pieces. Among these are `The Lady of Shalott,` `The Beggar Maid,` `The Charge of the Light Brigade,` `Break, break, break,` `Flower in the Crannied Wall,` and `Ode on the Death of the Duke of Wellington.` Also here are carefully chosen, uncut excerpts from three longer works: The Princess, `Maud,` and `The Brook.` With this inexpensive volume at their fingertips, students and lovers of poetry can enjoy a substantial sampling of Tennyson's still-admired, widely quoted verse.
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Selected Poems
Mariana
The Lady of Shalott
PART I
Long fields of barley and of rye,
That clothe the wold and meet the sky;
And throâ the field the road runs by
To many-towerâd Camelot;
And up and down the people go,
Gazing where the lilies blow
Round an island there below,
The island of Shalott.
Little breezes dusk and shiver
Throâ the wave that runs for ever
By the island in the river
Flowing down to Camelot.
Four gray walls, and four gray towers,
Overlook a space of flowers,
And the silent isle imbowers
The Lady of Shalott.
Slide the heavy barges trailâd d
By slow horses; and unhailâd
The shallop flitteth silken-sailâd
Skimming down to Camelot:
But who hath seen her wave her hand ?
Or at the casement seen her stand ?
Or is she known in all the land,
The Lady of Shalott ?
In among the bearded barley,
Hear a song that echoes cheerly
From the river winding clearly,
Down to towerâd Camelot;
And by the moon the reaper weary,
Piling sheaves in uplands airy,
Listening, whispers â âT is the fairy
Lady of Shalott.â
PART II
A magic web with colors gay.
She has heard a whisper say,
A curse is on her if she stay
To look down to Camelot.
She knows not what the curse may be,
And so she weaveth steadily,
And little other care hath she,
The Lady of Shalott.
That hangs before her all the year,
Shadows of the world appear.
There she sees the highway near
Winding down to Camelot;
There the river eddy whirls,
And there the surly village-churls,
And the red cloaks of market girls,
Pass onward from Shalott.
An abbot on an ambling pad,
Sometimes a curly shepherd-lad,
Or long-hairâd page in crimson clad,
Goes by to towerâd Camelot;
And sometimes throâ the mirror blue
The knights come riding two and two:
She hath no loyal knight and true,
The Lady of Shalott.
To weave the mirrorâs magic sights,
For often throâ the silent nights
A funeral, with plumes and lights
And music, went to Camelot;
Or when the moon was overhead,
Came two young lovers lately wed:
âI am half sick of shadows,â said
The Lady of Shalott.
PART III
He rode between the barley-sheaves.
The sun came dazzling throâ the leaves,
And flamed upon the brazen greaves
Of bold Sir Lancelot.
A red-cross knight for ever kneelâd
To a lady in his shield,
That sparkled on the yellow field,
Beside remote Shalott.
Like to some branch of stars we see
Hung in the golden Galaxy.
The bridle bells rang merrily
As he rode down to Camelot;
And from his blazonâd baldric slung
A mighty silver bugle hung,
And as he rode his armor rung,
Beside remote Shalott.
Thick-jewellâd shone the saddle-leather,
The helmet and the helmet-feather
Burnâd like one burning flame together,
As he rode down to Camelot;
As often throâ the purple night,
Below the starry clusters bright,
Some bearded meteor, trailing light,
Moves over still Shalott.
On burnishâd hooves his war-horse trode;
From underneath his helmet flowâd
His coal-black curls as on he rode,
As he rode down to Camelot.
From the bank and from the river
He flashâd into the crystal mirror,
âTirra lirra,â by the river
Sang Sir Lancelot.
She made three paces throâ the room,
Sh...